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refuses to acknowledge
his presence by speaking to him.
    With infuriating
confidence, he sits himself down opposite her at the table and flags down a
nearby waitress.
    “Coffee please,
and a refill for my friend,” he says with a smile.
    “Not his friend,”
she finally says. “But I’ll take that coffee.”
    She steals a
glance at him while she finishes cleaning the mess in her lap. He is as
handsome as ever with his messy but sexy windswept hair and facial scruff. His
green eyes twinkle in the sun as he watches her. To his credit, not even once
do his eyes move down to her chest. She can’t tell whether he respects her too
much to ogle or he’s afraid she’ll bite.
    “So I was just
riding by and saw you in the window,” he begins.
    She looks at his
leather jacket. It’s well-worn, rough around the edges with some of the
stitching coming loose. His patches clearly pledge allegiance to his motorcycle
club, the Suicide Kings. One rectangular patch declares his title as Vice
President while a diamond-shaped patch has the numeral one and a percentage
sign. She’s not familiar with that one and points it out.
    “This one? It
simply states that we are the outlaw one percent of all motorcycle clubs, the
cream of the crop if you will. We’re the one- percenters,” he says proudly.
    “And who would the
president of your cream of the crop club be?” she asks.
    “That would be my
father,” he says.
    When he talks
about his father, a dark look comes across his face and she wonders if there's
bad blood between the two.  
    It can’t be
that bad if he’s the vice president in his father’s club , she thinks to herself.
    Luke’s coffee
arrives and he uses the time he sips the hot drink to study Kayla. She is the
whole package; smokin’ hot, fiery attitude and brains to match. Her silky blond
hair and her almond-shaped brown eyes give her an exotic look that just adds to
her overall appeal. Finally, he can resist no longer and lets his gaze drop to
her bare shoulders, slender yet defined arms, and then to her chest. He finds the
way the low scoop of her tank top emphasizes her chest infinitely erotic. The
thin black material does little to disguise her nipples as they push their way
through.
    She is different! His
last romantic attachments have either been of the military brat persuasion or
the ‘old ladies’, the biker chicks that could never actually become members of
the Kings, but all of them were definitely fun to bang. Most of them weren't
much more than arm candy and pretty much brainless, unlike Kayla.
    “If you’re going
to spend that much time staring at me,” she says, interrupting his thoughts,
“you could at least warn me, so I could fix my hair and straighten my bra or
something.”
    Luke drops his
eyes as his face turns red.
    “You’re blushing,”
she exclaims. “That’s good. Proves you’re not a total heel, at least.”
    Luke peers down at
his coffee, at a loss for words. Blushing? How can the vice president of a
ruthless outlaw motorcycle club be made to blush by a woman? Glancing back to
her face, Luke realizes, for the first time, the hold she has over him even
though they have barely known each other. It makes no sense, whatsoever.
    Part of him feels
like putting her in her place as he would have done with any other chick; just
stand up and exercise his authority over her, but he doesn’t. He sits there
sipping his coffee and wondering what the hell this woman is doing to him.
    Kayla continues to
watch Luke. It’s interesting to see the influence she has on such a tough guy.
She’s sure he’s never blushed before after being caught checking a woman out.
Maybe there’s more to this biker guy than she first thought. Question is where
to go from here? She watches as he takes off his black leather jacket.
Underneath he’s wearing a faded black Metallica concert tee from the Enter
Sandman tour.
      The guy has cliché
taste in music, at least, she thinks amusingly.
     He’s got